It's been a long night.
After weeks of mismatched scheduling and general laziness, Harry and the gang finally found the time to get together, drink themselves to inebriated stupor, and sing themselves hoarse on the karaoke. University days are through. No more mindless droning inside the lab waiting for decoctions to drip out of the Soxhlet extractor. No more jargon-laced lectures from Professor Lee. No more haphazard cramming sessions just to eke out what passes off as a lab report hours before submission. Freedom tastes sweet—and slightly bitter, colored with a golden-amber hue.
It's been a long night, and the guys left with girls in tow. Except for Harry who almost barfed on the brunette he had been chatting up all night. The guys gave him too much beer because they knew he wasn't much of a drinker. The "good boy" in the gang was never known for holding his liquor—he usually volunteered to be the designated driver in their nocturnal exploits. Harry could barely drag himself out of the pub. In fact, he could have sworn that the bartender gave him a little shove into the pavement shouting, "Get outta here!"
The pavement was cold and damp, but he didn't care. He just wanted to make the buzzing in his head stop. He clumsily tried to get up and slowly ambled toward a sad grey wall. He unzipped his pants and sent a stream of hot tawny liquid to sputter on the wall's already grimy surface.
"What the hell are you doing? Disgusting lowlife," a voice bellowed from behind him. The voice wasn't gruff or deep, but feminine yet authoritative. Harry swiftly turned to face the admonisher forgetting that he was in the middle of a piss. Some of his urine dripped unto the woman's shiny black boots. Thwack. A truncheon smashed across Harry's face. He fell to the ground in a daze.
Radio static buzzed. "This is Officer Sadie Kahn. I have a misdemeanor offender assaulting an officer and resisting arrest. Over."
